Two little boys
by Belthronding
Summary: SILM based. A conversation between Maedhros and Maglor after the fall of Doriath, before Sirion. Maedhros POV.


_Author's note: This conversation takes place after the fall of Doriath, just before the sack of Sirion. Word has been sent to Elwing asking her to yield the Silmaril, but to no avail._ _'Two little boys' can either be the sons of Dior, Eluréd and Elurín, or the sons of Eärendil, Elrond and Elros, or Maedhros and Maglor, who are really, just their father's two little boys._

Disclaimer: All characters are property of JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended.

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Two little boys

Part I: Maedhros

We are sat, Makalaurë and I, in a white billowy tent. The encampment is scare bigger than half our hall was in our home upon Túna. Strange that I should think of that in such times. In those days we lived in Valinor which is closed to us now. In those days the Two Trees still bloomed, showering us with their hallowed light which are long since withered now. In those days my father and grand-father still lived who are both in Mandos now.

I look up and gaze upon my brother, my brother with the musical voice and probably the most even temper of us all. All? Nay, we are but four now. Gone Tyelkormo, gone Carnistir, gone Atarinkë. The oath at least has released them. It is I, the eldest child of Curufinwë Fëanáro who bears the brunt of it still. It claws at my heart, seeking its way deeper and deeper, until it holds me, ice cold with dread. Not only does it torment my heart, but also my spirit is corrupt with it. As night wanes and dawn waxes, time after time, the vice like grip of this oath, sworn by my father so many years ago tightens and burns. His fiery spirit, his passion did it depart to Mandos? I feel it in me now, we all have.

'Speak brother, for you seem greatly troubled.'

Can he see the grief inside me? Does he know what it was like?

__

The cold, the snow, the ice, the silence.

'Troubled? I have been nothing but troubled since I swore that oath alongside my father.' Makalaurë is now the one who seems troubled. I do not speak oft in this manner, but this is no usual time.

'What are you trying to say?'

'Doriath.' I say the word simply, yet by itself it weighs down my heart like lead.

'What of it?' Makalaurë does still not know to what I am alluding.

'Such uselessness!' I cry. 'Another kin slaying, yet what did we gain? Three dead brothers and the murder of countless elves on our conscience.'

'We knew what we were letting ourselves in for. Why Russandol, you were most eager to fall upon Menegroth.' Makalaurë's voice is soft, trying to ease the pain in my voice.

'No! I did not want it. But such visions, brother, you did not see. We swore a terrible oath, none now shall break it.' The words come out of my mouth jumbled, I make no sense at all.

__

The cold, the snow, the ice, the silence.

'Indeed none can and none shall. But Russandol, we have known this ere the moment we swore the oath alongside our father. Of what visions do you speak?'

I breath deeply. He does not know, or perhaps he is blind to it. I look at my hands, which are shaking slightly. Makalaurë notices of course, and follows my gaze. My hands, they have given me away now, I cannot hide any longer, I cannot stay silent, I cannot forget what has happened.

'The children.' I whisper.

'What children?'

'The sons of Dior.'

'I did not see them.' Makalaurë's tone is neutral, wooden, impenetrable.

'And you never shall.'

'They perished in the attack?'

'Nay, They were seized, dragged from their parents, taken deep into the forest. Abandoned. Left to starve.'

'How old were they?' His voice has softened. So he is not immune to such an act of cruelty.

'Little more than seven. Infants practically.'

'They are not the first children to have perished in the course of an assault.'

That is little comfort.

__

The cold, the snow, the ice, the silence.

'I sought for them. I sought long for them, but I found no trace, no marks, no footsteps. Nothing.' I close my eyes, but behind my lids I see white, I see huge clawing trees, the unfriendliness of the forest. If it chills me, how could two children fare? It does not bear thinking of, yet must be.

'That is the harsh reality. We swore to stop at nothing, in order to fulfil the oath.'

'But their cries, their young voices. I heard them brother, wailing for 'ada' and 'nana' and still can.' The sounds ringed the air, and echo still in my head.

Makalaurë is starting to comprehend my anguish.

'Is that why you withheld from attacking Sirion? Elwing daughter of Dior yet lives, in possession of a Silmaril. She would then be the sister of the two boys who…' His voice trails off.

'I am twice tormented. By the oath unfulfilled, but also by the slaying in Doriath.'

'Yet to Sirion we must go, is it not so? We have aught else to do. Did not the herald of Manwë say 'not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains'?'

'And that we shall swell in Death's shadow. So be it.

'Ambarussa should be told. We shall attack soon.'

I look up uneasily. Yes, I want to recover the Silmaril, the jewel my father, Curufinwë Fëanáro created with his own hands. Mine have steadied now, and looking closely at every line and rivulet they seem coarse somehow-unworthy of holding such jewels, and tainted-tainted with the blood of the innocent.

'Elwing,' I say croakily, 'has she not two young boys?'

'Indeed. The sons of Eärendil.'

I stare intently into the eyes of Makalaurë, where I see myself reflected: a shadow of my former self; bent, pale, brooding, unsteady.

'If we attack,' I start, 'what will become of them?'

Understanding dawns on my brother's face. He pulls a hand through his raven dark hair, the only one left with such colouring, and grows agitated. He gets up, and paces to and fro in our tent, silently, yet I perceive an inner battle raging within. Finally, he turns back and faces me.

'If we chance upon them,' he falters. I nod my head, urging him onwards. 'And if their parents…perish, then you could, I could…'

'I could not. I could not care for them, do you not understand?'

I feel Makalaurë comprehends my anguish now.

'Well, I can. I will foster Elrond and Elros, if need be.'

Naming them. But can Star dome and Star foam replace Heir of Elú and Remembrance of Elú? Remembrance, aye indeed. But perhaps it shall ease my grief, stay my conscience and the voices of the night.

__

The cold, the snow, the ice, the silence.

'Tomorrow, we attack.'

~ TBC

__

Characters:

Curifinwë Fëanáro: Fëanor

Russandol: Maedhros

Makalaurë: Maglor

Tyelkormo: Celegorm

Carnistir: Caranthir

Atarinkë: Curufin

Ambarussa: Amrod and Amras


End file.
